


Punch-Drunk Love

by meggiemellark (ohmymeggs)



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/meggiemellark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes to convince Katniss Everdeen that there really is a life outside of studying for finals is a little coercing, a lot of vodka, and a certain blue-eyed stranger she meets under the mistletoe. Rated T for language, innuendo, and underage drinking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch-Drunk Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Everlark Holiday Challenge from the Prompts in Panem Tumblr.

 

For whatever reason, Madge is determined to drag me to this dorm-wide Christmas party. I've told her repeatedly that my practical botany lab final is far more important than milling around the lounge while sipping punch and eating stale cookies, but she's absolutely insistent that I give up studying for an hour or so, at least long enough to eat something and watch the first half hour of  _Miracle on 34_ _th_ _Street._

"You've spent the entire semester with your nose in a book," she says from our suite-style bathroom as she applies her makeup. "Loosen up a little, Katniss. Have fun for once. It  _is_  the end of our first semester of college after all."

I sift through the piles of paper on my desk in search of my color-coded flashcards. "I have to do well on this final to keep my scholarship," I say tiredly. This whole not-sleeping-more-than-three-hours-a-night thing is finally beginning to catch up with me. And I'm sure it's only because I'm so exhausted that I snap, "It's not like all of our fathers are politicians who can afford to send us to school."

Her blue eyes darken a little at my statement and I immediately regret it. I know it isn't Madge's fault that her parents are well-off. And she does have to work hard to keep her grades up. It's just extremely frustrating to room with a hard-partying sorority girl when you're most concerned about finding time to sleep and writing papers between your shifts slinging brownies at the campus cafeteria every night and attending an eight o'clock calculus class every morning.

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Madge. That was rude. I just… I  _have_  to do well."

She strolls over to me and gently closes my heavy textbook over my hand. "And you will. You know plants better than anyone else I know. You're  _named_  after one for Christ's sake." Then she flashes me that trademark Undersee grin. "I just think a little bit of fun might do you some good right now. Come on. Even  _Johanna_  is going." She quirks a thumb to the wall we share with our suitemate. "You've been sitting in that chair for far too long."

I push myself up from my desk and stretch my arms over my head, relishing the way my spine pops as I elongate it. "You're probably right. Let me take a shower."

* * *

Madge is transformed by the time I braid back my damp hair and emerge from the bathroom. Her blonde hair falls in cascading ringlets over her shoulders and she's attached a silver pipe cleaner to a headband and twisted it into a make-shift halo. Her tan legs jut out from under the tight, white mini-dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and two delicate, white-feathered wings sit upon her shoulder.

"Well, shit, Madge," I breathe. "You didn't tell me it was a  _costume_  party."

She flashes me a broad smile as she liberally douses herself in gold spray glitter left over from her Halloween costume. I think she wore almost the exact same thing and called herself Ke$ha.

I've never seen an angel and I wouldn't exactly classify myself as a religious person, but I'm fairly certain the Lord's messengers didn't wear five-inch wedge heels when they were dispatched to deliver the good news to the shepherds. Still, there's no point in denying it: Madge Undersee is hot and she knows it. It never fails to make me question how we became such good friends in high school before coming to Capitol University for college.

Madge paces around me, her pink lip-glossed lips set in a look of consternation. I'm guessing this means that my finals week ensemble of slippers, dark gray leggings, and an old flannel shirt that once belonged to my father won't do. Especially if I'm to contend with one Miss Madge Undersee, Aphrodite of Collins Residence Hall.

"Something wrong?" I ask somewhat bitterly. I'd at least bothered to put on a clean shirt, which is a step up from midterms when I spent so much time studying that I actually forgot to change my clothes for three days.

"No, no, it's fine." Her perfectly arched eyebrows knit together. Clearly my outfit is anything but fine, she's just trying to figure out the best way to let me down easily. "It's just… Maybe burly lumberjack isn't the persona you want to give off if you're looking for someone to meet under the mistletoe."

I sigh. "I think you'll be doing enough of that for both of us." Madge has been involved in a scandalous on-again, off-again relationship with the eighth floor resident adviser Gale Hawthorne since about the third week of school. I've no doubt that they're currently off-again. Madge usually only whips out her fuck-me shoes when she's trying to make him realize exactly what he's missing.

"I think I have something…" She rifles through her closet and tosses me a huge, bright red sweatshirt with a Christmas tree emblazoned on the front. "Put this on."

I oblige by pulling the thing over my head. Trust Madge to just so happen to have the ugliest of ugly sweaters in her wardrobe. I'm just grateful that the tail of the sweatshirt is long enough to cover my ass. Leggings are  _not_  pants to be worn in public, regardless of what Madge's sorority sisters say.

"Really?" I ask her as I survey myself in the full-length mirror on our bathroom door.

She twists around me and presses a button on the lapel, which makes the entire Christmas tree flash. The tiny bulbs on the tree actually fucking light up.

"You're joking."

But I know she isn't when she bounces and claps her hands, squealing with delight the entire time. She insists on painting as much makeup on me as I'll allow her and then traipses through the bathroom to Johanna's adjoining room and raps on the door. "Jo! We're leaving!"

I thought for sure that I'd be the showstopper with my blinding clothing, but it turns out that Johanna Mason has absolutely mastered the art of the ugly Christmas sweater. But while I stand in my flashing sweater, feeling utterly ridiculous, Johanna is a knockout. Her thin, mile-long legs are covered in dark brown leggings and she's glued tinsel and tiny red ornaments to the dark green sweatshirt.

"Oh my God," I mutter quietly. "You're—"

"A Christmas tree," she finishes and then smirks at me. "Yep. I figured I couldn't let little Miss Madge here have all the fun." She leans in close to my roommate. "Does Jesus know you're wearing that get-up in public?"

Madge narrows her eyes but doesn't respond. They've never been the best of friends but because I love them both so dearly, they try to get along for my sake.

We take the elevator down to the basement lounge and when the doors slide open, I'm almost glad that Madge strong-armed me out of my room tonight. The usually too-bright fluorescent lights are turned off and the drab room is instead painted in color by what must be millions of twinkling Christmas lights. Christmas carols play softly in the background, the Yule Log video is projected onto the far wall, and people in every kind of costume—from Elf to Angel—stand around, munching on pizza, chips, and cookies.

It's approximately thirty seconds before Madge spots Gale, dressed as Santa Claus, and she fluffs her hair. "Excuse me, ladies," she says. "I've got to see if I can get a turn on Santa's lap." She arches her back to accentuate her chest and marches across the room.

Johanna turns to me. "You think she remembers that she's Jewish?"

I shrug and we step to the refreshments table. I hadn't realized just how hungry I was until I got a whiff of pizza. Now I'm famished. After a few moments, our plates are piled high. We mean to pass by the drink table altogether but a deep voice stops us before we get too far.

"Whoa!" A deep voice calls to us before we turn away. It's Finnick Odair, the resident director. He's something of a campus legend because he's very,  _very_  good looking and a complete Casanova. "No one passes my table and leaves empty-handed."

Johanna narrows her dark eyes. "We're a little loaded down. Maybe later?"

"I'll follow you!" he says jovially, ladling two scoops of bright green punch into two red Solo cups. He then looks at us expectantly. "Lead the way. Please."

Jo rolls her eyes but walks toward a deserted table in the far corner of the room. With her leading and me following closely behind, it isn't until Finnick sets our drinks on the table and grins at us that either one of us notices what he's wearing.

"Oh, for  _fuck's_  sake." Jo rolls her eyes.

Finnick holds out his arms and allows us to survey his outfit. He's dressed as an elf, in a tight green body suit with red accents. But what's got Jo in such a tizzy is the sprig of mistletoe he's fastened onto his belt.

"Seriously, Odair?"

He laughs. "What can I say? I'm trying to deck the halls. You ladies enjoy your evening." He turns on his heel and strides back to the drink table.

Johanna snorts. "I'm going to be decking his balls if he isn't careful." Then she produces a tiny silver flask from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Jo," I breathe as she unscrews the cap and pours clear liquor into her punch cup. "What are you doing?"

"Making spirits bright," she quips and then tops my cup off, smiling broadly. "Cheers!"

I take a cautious sip. The punch on its own would be almost sickeningly sweet, almost like drinking straight syrup, but whatever Johanna's added to my drink makes it bearable. It doesn't even burn on the way down and I find myself forgetting that my beverage is even spiked as I eat two slices of pizza and top it off with a frosted sugar cookie.

Johanna keeps pouring shots of vodka into our cups and before too long, she empties the flask into my cup. My cheeks burn and the lights on the wall have long grown fuzzy but I can't find it in myself to tell her no.

For a moment, I worry that Madge will drag Gale over and he'll smell the booze on our breaths and drag us in for an alcohol awareness meeting, but the two of them seem to be pretty well preoccupied behind one of the giant Christmas trees and I have a feeling that I won't be seeing my roommate again tonight.

I never drank in high school and I've only been really, fantastically drunk once—when Madge dragged Jo and me to a date party. I know enough about myself, however, to realize that alcohol makes me relaxed and bold enough to do things I absolutely would never consider doing sober. Johanna, on the other hand, usually wants to fight with someone.

"Someone needs to take Finnick Odair down a notch," she says before draining the last of her punch. "I think it should be me."

"'S probably not a good idea," I slur, but I know that when she gets like this, there really is no stopping her.

She waves me off, crossing the floor toward the punch table, mumbling under her breath about how stupid it is for him to hang mistletoe over his dick. I watch her for a few moments, just long enough to see her punch Finnick playfully in the shoulder, before I let my gaze wander.

The blond boy across the room catches my eye almost immediately, because he looks about as lost as I normally feel. But the vodka runs hot in my veins and I'm wearing a flashing Christmas sweater, so I drain and trash my cup and zigzag through the room until I'm standing right in front of him.

"Hi," I say, far more breathily and Madge-like than I ever would have expected from myself. "I don't think I know you."

He shakes his head and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "No, I…" He shuffles his feet. "I think I'd remember you."

"I'm Katniss." I grab his hand firmly.

"Peeta," he responds and when he smiles, it comes so easily to him that I find my nerves and my normally stoic resolve slipping away. He looks like the kind of person who makes others happy by just being around them. "I like your sweatshirt."

I scoff. "My roommate's. She wouldn't let me wear my flannel."

"What a jerk." He winks.

"Right?" I motion to his empty hands. "You're not eating?"

"Oh, no." Peeta shakes his head. "I'm not staying very long. I have finals to study for."

I nod. "Me, too. I didn't want to come at all actually. My jerk roommate dragged me out."

"Me too. Only, my R.A." He studies the expanse of the room. "Who I actually don't see anymore so I guess the coast is clear. Do you see your friend?"

I scan the room for a moment before there's a giggle from the direction of the Christmas tree at which I spied Madge and Gale earlier.

I point in that direction. "Ah."

Peeta laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

"Let me guess. Your R.A.?"

"Yep." He nods. "Your roommate?"

I nod and we laugh together for a moment. A rush of drunkenness hits me suddenly and I stumble to the right, grasping Peeta's arm for balance. "Whoa."

His eyebrows knit together. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just… I think I had a little too much punch."

His strong hands pull me up and I lean into him. His blue eyes sparkle as they reflect the twinkling lights and I might be crazy—or just very solidly drunk—but I could swear that he leans close to me and licks his lips.

"You know…" I whisper and point above us. "We're standing under mistletoe."

His gaze flits upwards momentarily and then he's right back to staring at me. His eyes are more intoxicating than anything Johanna could have put in that flask. "So we are."

"I'm guessing you know what that means?"

He nods and the tip of his tongue definitely darts out between two perfectly pink, plump lips. "I think it's against the rules of Christmas to be under mistletoe and not kiss."

"You're probably right." I just manage to get the words off my tongue before his mouth slants over mine. His lips are supple and strong as they work and my hands twine in his thick hair, automatically pulling him closer to me. I don't want to, but I pull away from him.

But before I can back away, his fingers find my chin and tilt my mouth back up towards him. I gasp as he kisses me again, deeper, harder, and longer than before and I know nothing that isn't Peeta's lips. The room spins and while it could be from the alcohol, I'm more willing to bet that it's because I'm being kissed in a way that makes me feel lighter than air.

My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat. I wrench myself away from Peeta and double over. Okay. Maybe it  _is_ the alcohol.

"Katniss?" Peeta says, concern evident in his tone. "Are you okay?"

I'm afraid that opening my mouth will merely tempt the fates and I'll lose my cookies all over Peeta's tennis shoes, so I shake my head and take the arm he's extended to me.

"What floor are you on? Let me take you back to your room, just to be safe."

"Twelve," I gasp and then swallow hard. He's certainly a gentleman, this Peeta, willing to escort me to my dorm room before I hurl everywhere. I could kick myself for letting Johanna slip me so much vodka. Peeta's a damn good kisser and he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. Maybe we would have had a chance if I hadn't shown just how much I can't hold my liquor.

He nods and escorts me to the elevator. I feel much better by the time the silver doors slide open and we emerge from the lift and into the lobby. Peeta follows close behind me as I swipe my ID for entry into the hallway and then fiddle with my key in the third door on the left. I push open the door and step over the threshold. I don't even care how uncomfortable these clothes are. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep off the intoxication from both the vodka and Peeta's kiss.

"Well," he says from the doorway and he shoves his hands back in his pockets. It must be a nervous tic; I find it absolutely adorable. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I'll see you around." He turns to head back down the hall, but I have just enough alcohol and adrenaline left coursing through my veins that I call to him and he stops before he's taken two steps.

"Peeta… Would you mind… If it's all right… Would you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah, of course. Always."

I smile and wave him into the room. "Shut the door."

He holds me until I fall asleep. The last thing I remember before slipping into unconsciousness are his lips as they ghost across my forehead.

* * *

The sun filters in through the blinds by the time I wake the next morning. I feel like a mess; my head pounds, my mouth feels like cotton, and the makeup I forgot to wash off makes my eyes feel cruddy and puffy.

Then I remember that I didn't go to bed alone last night. "Peeta?" I call, my voice raspy and thick with sleep and the hangover. "Peeta?"

The door knob turns and the anxiety in the pit of my stomach drops. Peeta probably just went down to the cafeteria to get breakfast.

But instead it's Madge who enters the room, her wedge heels hanging from her finger by the ankle strap. And if my mascara looks anything like hers, I should be thankful that Peeta seems to have bolted without a word.

"Well." She nods to me and flops down on her bed. "At least  _one_  of us made it back last night."

I clear my throat and sit up. The last part turns out to be a giant mistake because my head throbs almost unbearably. "Where have you been?"

"Gale's," she says plainly. "We're back together."

"Awesome." I figured.

"I'm not sure where Johanna ended up but it's about time she gets some." Madge turns her pert nose into the air and sniffs deeply. "Jesus, what did you do last night? You smell like a distillery."

As much as I'd love to sit here and listen to Madge recall every detail of last night's escapades, she's right. I can actually smell myself. And a hot shower would probably do me some good. I'm just eternally grateful that I'm no longer nauseated; working the lunch shift today would majorly suck if I couldn't handle the smell.

"I'm going to shower before work."

"Good idea," Madge says as she hugs her pillow to her. "Good night."

I grab my towel off the over-the-door rack and step into our small bathroom. I brush my teeth and turn on the tap full blast before stripping off my clothes and stepping under the spray. I wash my hair and scrub my face and body quickly and then just let the water run over my stiff shoulders.

It's probably a good thing Madge came back when she did. It kept me from dwelling for too long on the fact that Peeta took absolutely no interest in me. Not that I can particularly blame him. What kind of girl gets drunk at a dorm party, marches up to a complete stranger, and then proceeds to make out with him and invite him up to her room just to ask him into her bed and fall asleep on him? All while wearing a stupid flashing Christmas sweater I might add.

"Idiot…" I mutter as I bang my head against the tile wall of the shower. "You are stupid, Katniss Everdeen…"

Oh, well. I finally resign myself to the idea that I at least got one hell of a kiss out of it.

I stay in the shower until Johanna enters the bathroom and threatens to drag me out by my hair if I don't hurry up. I have to go to work anyway, so I force myself to step into the chilly room. I braid my hair quickly and dress in my black work clothes, hoping the day passes quickly. I'm already looking forward to crawling back into bed.

* * *

Like most Saturday nights, the cafeteria is practically dead. I pass out slices of pie as students visit the dessert booth but I still spend an embarrassing amount of time recalling the delicious pressure of Peeta's lips on my own.

Effie Trinket, my overly-coiffed, incredibly perky boss rounds the corner just as I pop a small piece of chocolate chip cookie into my mouth. Damn.

She quirks her head to the side and prances over to the counter. "Katniss?"

I can tell I'm in trouble just from the tone of her voice. "Hi, Effie."

She smiles at me and pats her hair. "It's not your break time yet, is it?"

"No…"

Effie waves a perfectly manicured fingernail at me. "Then don't eat the cookies, okay?"

"I'm so sorry, Effie."

She laughs and shakes her head. "No need to apologize, my dear. Just wash your hands and get back to work, all right?"

I nod and brush the crumbs from my hands. I'm just glad that she's in a good mood tonight. I very easily could have been written up for sneaking food.

As Effie continues her rounds to double check that everyone's doing what they're supposed to, I turn my attention to cleaning out the display cases. The more I get done during my shift, the less time I have to spend doing it later and the sooner I can crawl into bed.

I'm working on a nasty chocolate spill in the bottom of the cooler when a pair of black Chucks stops in front of the booth. "Just a second," I call out, hoping they can hear me over the hum of the fridge.

I toss the dish towel back into my bucket of sanitizer water and move to the sink to wash my hands. "What can I get for you?" I ask as I dry my hands on a paper towel and pull on a clean pair of plastic gloves.

"Hey, Katniss."

My stomach sinks as I look up into piercingly blue eyes. "Peeta. Hi. What, um… What can I get for you?"

"I was just wondering when you might get a break?"

"Oh! Umm." I glance at the itinerary posted above the sink. Effie is a stickler for keeping everything on a very precise schedule. "It's not for another half hour," I tell him, trying to keep the disappointment from creeping into my voice.

"I'll wait." He shrugs and takes a seat at an empty table just to the right of my booth.

I continue my cleaning, but can't keep myself from gazing at him. It's unsettling, him just sitting there, waiting for me to come over so we can talk. Eventually, I get so tired of seeing him sitting there playing on his phone that I plate a slice of peppermint French silk pie and take it to him.

Peeta glances up at me when I slide the plate across the table to him. "Thank you?"

"Effie doesn't like it when people come in here and don't eat. So here. It'll be another fifteen minutes or so before my break."

He nods and picks up the fork. "Okay."

Effie finally arrives at the booth to cover my break and I practically toss my apron at her. It's not that I'm incredibly anxious to talk to Peeta when I'm sure he's just going to politely explain why we can't be together, but I'd rather get the rejection over with sooner rather than later.

At this point, the cafeteria is basically dead, but I lead Peeta over to the breakfast nook for guaranteed privacy. I've just turned around to face him when he produces a sprig of mistletoe, which he dangles above our heads. "We're standing under mistletoe. You know what that means."

I nod and my heart beats quickly as he leans toward me and captures my lips. The kisses we shared last night were great, but this is wonderful. I moan a little as his arms find my waist and pull me so close to him, I'm beginning to think I'll forget where I end and he begins.

Reluctantly, I take a step away from Peeta. Blood rushes to my cheeks and I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I thought that… I mean…" I stammer, averting my gaze to the floor while trying to find exactly the right words. "You left."

Peeta nods. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure you'd be okay waking up next to me so I chickened out… And I realized after I got back to my room that I forgot to ask for your number. So I asked Gale to find out from Madge where you'd be so I could set the record straight." He takes my hands in his, which causes me to look up. "I know you're busy with finals and work and everything, but I think you're great and I'd like to get to know you… If that's okay."

My lips involuntarily tug into a smile. "I'll allow it."

He responds by looping his arms around me and kissing me once more. "Merry Christmas, Katniss."

I smile. "Merry Christmas, Peeta."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thank you has to go to chelziebelle for betaing and baronesskika and keelaree for hand-holding and cheerleading all the way through. You guys are the greatest.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to message me here or swing by my Tumblr (meggiemellark). Happy holidays.


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